Steel to Rust
by visceralfringe
Summary: Steve Rogers accidentally becomes the future intended of Thor, Son of Odin and future King of Asgard, when he lifts Mjolnir at Stark's party.
1. Preface

Stephen, name adjusted for cultural purposes, stood at the crest of one of Asgard's many gilded balconies, a goblet of wine in one hand and his blues attentively perusing the glittering, candlelit city. Six months had drifted by like ocean tides since the engagement. It felt surreal-a dream he had yet to wake from. But as the days before their wedding dwindled, the encroaching reality and pressure grew harder to ignore.

 _Damn that game... Damn Stark's "revels" party._ He should never have accepted Barton's silly, half drunken challenge. But, then again...

Rogers cast a glance over his shoulder and through the colonnade to where Thor lay abed, alight in fire and gold; lightning and title. Had it not been for that night, they wouldn't have been "fated." They'd been seeing each other secretly for several months before that-dinners and dances, coy evenings in the Tower's pool, harmless pastimes like that. And Steve did love him. Deeply.

Besides, he hadn't belonged on Earth, far more akin to an Asgardian since his rebirth than a human. Ageless. Undying. Too strong. Too set in the past. Too old. But as much as he loved Thor, truly and madly, he did miss Earth, and the colors of its sunsets. The breaking of the waves on wide, beachy shores that smelled of salt, chili dogs, and sunscreen. Movies. Muscle cars. The scent of autumn.

He turned a gentle smile, reflecting on their time together. Stephen had no clue if he could effectively rule Asgard as its second King. But he /could/ without a doubt down to his marrow love Thor as a husband, king, and companion. Try as he might, learning matters of state and stature had proved difficult. Culturally, he hadn't quite caught on. He could only hope to study harder and prove to those who doubted him that a mere Midgardian was worthy of Mjolnir's acceptance... and Thor's heart.


	2. The First Time

**Brooklyn, New York**

 **Earth**

 **[Two years earlier…]**

Focus fixed to the fading shine on his dress shoes, Steve took the stairs. He always took the stairs. He listened to Thor's heavy footsteps behind him as the man followed. To give himself a little more room to breathe, Steve hooked his finger into the stiff, heavily starched collar of his suit and tugged. It loosened his tie enough to gulp without choking.

Theirs had been a small ceremony: an ordained judge and Barton and Romanoff as witnesses. Steve had wanted it that way. Thor had forewarned him that the official ceremony, the only to be celebrated on Asgard, would be as extravagant and enormous as weddings came.

They had walked to Sophi's from the courthouse where he had barely made a dent in his three-cheese lasagna, but must have downed twenty cups of Medaglia.

They reached the landing of the fourth floor and Steve rounded the corner to stroll towards apartment 481, the last door on the left. He paused on the mud mat, shifting his doggy bag to his left hand while he fished his keys out of his slacks with his right. He thumbed through them until he found the silver one and shifted it into position. First try, he missed the hole. Second try, he put it in upside down.

"You're trembling," Thor's rolling baritone declared.

A light, dry laugh fluttered out of Steve's chest. "Just jittery, I guess. Probably all the coffee." Third try, he missed again. Steve stilled when, from behind him, Thor reached around and laid his left hand over Steve's, his new vibranium wedding band glinting under the fluorescent lights. The warm weight calmed him.

"You are nervous."

Keeping his eyes on the knob, Steve hid the surge of heat in his face. "Or we could just state the obvious…"

"That is how I am," Thor reminded impishly.

"I know, fella," Steve whispered, turning a bashful smile. "I know."

"Please." Thor gently ushered him aside and assumed control of his keys. "Allow me."

"Thanks." Steve stuffed his quaking hand into his pocket, feigning interest in the apartment's number plaque as he listening to Thor jingle and jostle the door open. _Click._

"… I am sorry for this," Thor mumbled.

"Sorry?" Steve echoed as he lifted his gaze, confused. "What fo—Thor!" he exclaimed, suddenly swept up into the Asgardian's burly arms. He met his Caribbean blue eyes, puzzling over the distance between himself and the floor.

"Indulge me," Thor requested, his grin genuine and disarming enough to receive a hundred indulgences. "It is custom in my culture." Dumbstruck and humbled, Steve stared into Thor's handsome face as Thor carried him across the threshold of his apartment. Once inside, he toed the door shut.

Blind with embarrassment, Steve murmured, "Sheesh, fella, will you put me down?"

"In a moment. I require a kiss first."

With only an instant's hesitation, Steve placed a chaste kiss on Thor's cheek. Clearly unsatisfied, Thor turned his head and caught Steve's mouth assertively. Firmly. Fiercely. Marinara, Cabernet, and fine cologne wafted through Steve's senses, the scruff of Thor's blond beard tickling his lips. Spine liquefying, Steve's trepidation turned to jelly. They had kissed before, but it had never been so poignant with passion, possessiveness, and promises.

Steve was thankful for the extra few seconds Thor held him. Heck, his knees may have buckled on their own. Thor reluctantly gave Steve's feet back to the floor. Quickly straightening his suit as he found his balance, Steve tried to laugh it off.

"Believe you me, that is the _last_ time that is ever happening."

"I will fix us drinks." Thor slid his finger through his silk tie until it hung undone around his neck. He moved with the grace of a courtier and the power of a jungle cat as he slid Steve's coat from his shoulders. "That should help."

"OK," Steve stammered, busying himself with plucking hangers from the coat closet. "You want me to put on a record?" Uncannily fond of the large ropes of Thor's neck framing his Adam's apple with devilish temptation, Steve couldn't help but notice that Thor had thumbed open the first three buttons of his Burberry. Steve's pulse kicked up.

Thor smiled warmly. "If it would ease you. Your voice is enough for me."

Stomach tumbling faster than an acrobat, Steve dropped his attention to the floor, searching for a romantic way to respond and coming up empty. "Well, when you go and put it like that—"

"Yes, my love," Thor agreed mercifully. "Music would please me." He squeezed Steve's shoulder as he passed him and turned the corner into the kitchen.

Sheepishly, Steve ducked into the den to fiddle with the stereo system and collect his dignity.

* * *

Smooth jazz floated through the tension between their cocktails—whiskey on the rocks with a couple maraschino cherries on the surface. Seated across from one another at the dining table, Steve fingered his wedding band, turning it around his finger. Thor covered Steve's fidgeting with his large, steady hand.

"Be at peace." Thor brushed his calloused thumb over Steve's flustered skin. "We will go at your pace."

"You've already waited a year and a half because of my pace," he whispered.

"And I would not change a thing. I said I wanted to romance you the traditional way Midgardians do. I meant it. Just because you lifted the hammer doesn't give me free license to possess you."

The admission soothed a portion of his worry. Steve inhaled deeply. "Have you, you know… done this before?" He glanced up at the Asgardian. At his… husband.

"Never with a man. But Fandral tells me it is not difficult."

Steve's nerves spiked. "You talked to Fandral about us?"

"Naturally," Thor answered after a hardy gulp, casually bending his elbow to drape his arm over the back of his chair, forcing Steve to grapple with how shapely his arms looked with his cuffs unbuttoned and rolled high enough to expose the impressive swell of his triceps. The shirt creased in all the right places; hugged every perfect curve. Steve's throat dried. "He is a close companion with valuable experience."

"Well," muttered Steve under his breath. "At least it wasn't your mother." Steve took a long pull from his drink.

Thoughtfully, Thor furrowed his strong brow. "I sought her counsel, too."

Steve choked, snapping his fist up to keep the Jack in his mouth.

"It seemed easier than approaching my father."

"Fair enough." Steve cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders.

"And you?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, sore with stress, Steve forced a smirk and shook his head. "Fooled around some. Back in the 40s." Christmas Eve, 1942, to be precise. Steve had been madly in love, Buck had been drunk and sore about the lack of female company, and a sudden snow storm had plunged the temperature outside their tent to 5 degrees Fahrenheit. "But…"

"Never to fruition."

Steve shifted in his seat. "If that means fondue, no." Thor, Steve accepted, already knew about him being queer since grade school. Not because Steve had the guts to admit it, but because Natasha had gone and spilled the beans on the night of their engagement. That hadn't been permissible in Steve's time though. He hadn't thought to share.

Thor eyed him carefully, but candidly. "You're a virgin."

 _Dammit._ Sighing wryly, Steve lifted his glass and downed three hefty swallows. "Do we have to keep stating the obvious?"

"There is no shame in that. It is beautiful. I am honored, Steven."

Steve laughed, giving his cocktail glass a few slow turns on the tabletop just to have an excuse to keep his eyes off Thor's face and his defenses occupied. The glass left a glistening ring of condensation on the wood. "No one else calls me that but you."

"Do you dislike it?" Thor challenged playfully, leaning forward.

Steve smiled, struggling not to be coy. "Not when you say it."

Thor's chair creaked as he sat back. "We should have had this conversation months ago."

"Deal breaker?"

"Not at all. I've never met someone so modest. It's actually very attractive."

Him? Attractive? Steve scoffed insincerely. "Being shy as a guy isn't exactly an advantage, fella."

"Steven. We're married. There's nothing to be shy about anymore."

"Funny. I thought I'd feel that way, too. Like everything would just settle into place. But I think I'm more anxious now than the afternoon you popped the question."

Silence filled the space between them. Pushing his chair back from the table and standing, Thor offered Steve his outstretched hand. "Come. Perhaps we should start with something simple. May I have this dance?"

Heart leaping into his throat, Steve followed Thor's arm to his face. Dazedly, he nodded.

* * *

Chest to chest, Steve stepped along with Thor to the saxophone solos dripping from the speakers, Thor's flexed bicep rock solid beneath his palm. Thor's body, radiating warmth, couldn't have been more enticing if Steve had dreamed it up. A light whiskey fragrance joined the intoxicating scents from before.

"Do you trust me?" Thor asked, his breath like velvet fire against his ear.

"Course I do," answered Steve without hesitation.

"Then why are you still shaking?"

Exhaling in defeat, Steve hid his face in the crook of Thor's neck. "What if I'm no good at this?"

"Surely you jest," Thor purred lowly, his grip tightening. "If you could feel the way you move against me, the way you fit in every place I burn to be touched, you'd never say such a thing." His lips ghosted over the shell of Steve's ear. "If you were a bride, I'd promise you children."

"Don't talk like that," Steve chided, cursing the deluge of heat that swirled through his groin.

"Why?" Thor dropped his lips beneath Steve's ear to the most sensitive spot above his collarbone.

"It's—" Steve tried. "Unnatural." Not that Steve the science experiment had any right to condemn the unnatural.

"Can't you picture it? I'd pleasure you nightly, make you sweat as I heat you from the inside, until I was certain not a single space had been left unfilled. And still I wouldn't stop."

He shivered. "Thor."

Thor's hand traveled from the small of Steve's back to the back pocket of his slacks. He squeezed—slow and methodic. Steve's breath hitched. "Can you feel how much I want you?" Thor pulled, sandwiching their hips together, his unmistakable engorgement getting fresh with Steve's crotch. "To claim you? To take you? To lay you bare before me and watch you come undone?"

Despite stubbornly chewing on his cheek, Steve couldn't stave off the wave of arousal welling up within him, his slacks growing irritatingly tight. Both of Thor's hungry hands found the seat of Steve's pants as their lips met. He squeezed harder. Steve freed a low, deprived moan into his mouth, melting against him and the thorough kneading. Steve closed the distance between them as he slid his arm around behind his neck, his other hand tugging at the fabric clothing Thor's side.

Thor brought them to the sofa. He sat down, dusky blues glued to Steve's soul, and Steve tentatively moved into place astride his hips. He shivered as Thor's hands secured purchase of his seat again and pulled at an angle, forcing Steve's groin to slide over Thor's. Over… and over.

The delicious hint of friction had Steve panting, his fingertips digging into the cushion behind Thor's shoulder while Thor nosed under his jaw and started sucking on the flesh of his throat. Steve pulled Thor's tie from his shoulders and discarded it on the other side of the couch. Fingering with Thor's dress shirt, he managed to detach the fourth, fifth, and sixth button.

Jesus. Steve hadn't been this hot to trot since before the thaw. He snuck his fingers up into Thor's golden mane. Time slipped from his telling. Another round of kissing evolved into petting. Heavy petting.

"I want to take this to our bedroom," Thor announced, his husky voice grating against Steve's sanity.

Breathless, Steve nodded and grudgingly dismounted. With the grace of a god, Thor stood—his slacks stiffly tented—and took Steve by the hand. He led him through the fog of his need into the cool, dim dark of the bedroom. Steve, beside himself, almost couldn't tell up from down. His pulse pounded in his ears, nearly too loudly to hear Thor duck into his bathroom for a bottle of slick he had never had the chance to use.

"I won't rush you, Steven. I want you to know the feel of my body," Thor began, his rugged hands like tongues of satin as they crept down Steve's shirt, effortlessly opening every button, "before I know yours."

Steve gulped dryly, floundering in Thor's blues, gooseflesh spreading across his torso. He hadn't noticed that Thor had dropped his slacks and shorts until Thor took Steve's hand and slowly wrapped it around his—

Wide eyed, Steve's attention descended the axis of Thor's brawny, sculpted body to what stood at attention between his legs and throbbed in his palm.

"Merciful God." Before he could leash the impulse, his tongue darted over his lower lip.

"It's Thor, actually." He cracked a sidelong, sinfully arrogant grin.

Steve stared achingly. As if instinctively, his mouth watered. What would that feel like between his lips? How would it flavor his tongue? Could he even take it all—? Steve ripped himself from his lewd thoughts. Suffering from a blush that burned like fever blisters, Steve met Thor's eyes—patient, but lit from within by insatiable lust.

"If you're not ready," Thor guided, stealing his gentle hand under Steve's chin, "then we'll wait for that."

"I… uh…" His head pounded. "Can I taste it?" he whispered.

If possible, the light in Thor's eyes roared to an inferno. Steve felt him sweep his thumb over his bottom lip. "I've wondered for so long about the feel of your mouth."

Itching with need, Steve wasn't going to make him wait any longer to find out. He knelt, coming face to face with another first. Splaying his hand over Thor's naked thigh, Steve leaned in, lips parted, and licked the hot, silky tip. He glanced up as Thor grunted. He eased lower and trailed his tongue along the salty, stiff shaft. Above him, Thor shuddered.

Steve couldn't stop at a taste. He took the base in his unoccupied hand and stooped down to sample the first few inches.

"Bloody—" Thor moaned. "Steven." Thor's hand found his hair as fresh heat found Steve's face. He had never heard his name come off Thor's lips quite like that. Maybe this was like… drinking a malt. Sucking felt natural, he realized, as he started a warm, wet pull.

Thor's hand curled into his hair and Steve heard him start making the most glorious sounds. They went straight to Steve's south. A bit braver with the added fuel, Steve took in another inch. One more, and Thor's erection had found the back of his throat. He upturned his eyes to find Thor watching him with wildfire in his eyes.

"I need you," Thor growled. " _Now._ "

Steve obeyed. Following orders was damn easy, especially in this heady fugue he found himself in. He stood up, uncertain about what to do next. Before he could ask, Thor spoke again, his mighty chest heaving and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Undress. All of it. If I try, I'll..." He flexed his hands. "I shall likely rip everything."

Blinking in surprise, Steve realized that his dress shirt and tie still draped from his shoulders and his slacks hung at his hips. He shucked off his shirt and, purely habitually, turned his back to Thor when he started on his pants. From behind him, he heard the pop of a cap, a squirt of fluid, and a dull thud. Before he could correct himself, Thor had him flat against the wall, his cheek to the chilly surface, with his slacks and shorts around his ankles.

Thor took his ear lobe between his teeth. Steve, panting, could feel Thor shifting behind him, moving in some unintelligible way. The slurping that followed allowed Steve the mental image of Thor lubing up the same thing his mouth had just attended to.

Steve bit down hard on his lip, painfully erect against the unforgiving wall.

Thor's hand snuck between them, blazing a trail up the delicate skin of Steve's inner thigh, Thor's fingers cool and slimy. His hot, hard erection dug into the flesh of Steve's backside. Palms pressed to the wall, Steve curled his fingers into the plaster. A tremor rattled through him as Thor's fingers found his—!

Thor inserted one slippery digit.

Steve's mouth fell open with a broken moan. "W—wait," he gasped. "This…?"

"Yes," Thor answered. He began to pump in and out, adding occasional kinks. "This is how it's done."

Before Steve could inquire further, Thor twisted his wrist and crooked his finger. Steve, moans unbidden, could have sworn he saw stars, an electric jolt racing up his spine.

"There it is," Thor praised against the shell of his ear.

 _There what was!?_

Steve choked on his question when Thor, panting, added a second finger, pressing his nose against the crook of Steve's neck. He found that spot again.

"Thor!" Steve cried.

Thor gradually twisted, spread, and scissored his fingers.

Steve felt his face flush violet. Thor was going to…? That was how…? Steve's social anxieties, his indoctrinated self-loathing, began clawing back into his brain. Dirty. Unforgivable. Abominable.

"This isn't exactly how I wanted our first time to go, darling," Thor spoke huskily. "I wanted to look into your eyes."

 _Look into…? From—from the front!?_

Steve blushed violently. "I—I don't think I could do it another way," Steve quickly choked out, embarrassment threatening to strangle him. Thor bent his fingers again, nearly bringing tears of pleasure to Steve's eyes and forcing his doubts away. Steve shivered.

"In that case," Thor acquiesced, "I'll love you from this position… for now." He locked his lips with Steve's neck, gingerly teething on the skin, as he extracted his fingers, pulling more moans from Steve as he did so.

Steve felt Thor's slick hand slide up his arm to anchor his hand to the wall and fold their fingers together while his other hand found purchase just below Steve's thigh. Thor hiked up his leg, bending that knee, and held it against the wall.

Finally, Steve felt the silky head of his husband's erection locate and wait at the entrance to his body.

"Relax, my love," Thor coaxed. "I only want to bring you pleasure. The slightest hint of pain, and I'll stop."

Steve gulped, white hot desire threatening to overwhelm him, as if he could lose himself to this. "OK, fella," he breathed out.

Thor shifted. Steve gasped.

"Relax," Thor grunted against his ear, his grip on Steve's hand constricting.

Trembling, Steve strived to do just that. More, measure by measure, stretched him open.

"You—" Thor cut off with a groan. "It feels as though I did not prep you in the least."

Tight. Too tight. Steve's every muscle-bound fiber throbbed. Sobbed with pleasure. He caught himself whining as he scratched his fingertips down the wall, even willing his hips forward to beg friction from the wall.

Thor's lips feathered over his shoulder. "So eager. Halfway," he reported.

Steve gave a lilted moan at the news, nearly incoherent in the sensation, his own name a distant echo by the time Thor could go no farther. And then… the thrusts started.


	3. King's Consort

**Asgard**

 **[Present day...]**

There was no point in making a bed that hadn't been slept in. The wax of his fifth candle past midnight pooled in cooling clumps in its silver dish, the wick nearly submerged as ribbons of sunlight streamed through the champagne gossamer drapes. He turned the page and read on.

 _Do not stand so firm in the ominous shadow of your problems that you break against their weight, like the lonely rocky crag facing the raging sea. Be instead a mighty fir: flexible but well rooted in your dearest truths, that which bring sustenance to your mind, body, and spirit._

 _Strive to leave room to bend where bending can be afforded. Thrive swaddled in a thick forest of support by your fellow man._

 _However, be just as prepared to lean into the storms ahead. To escape unscathed from any conflict leaves too much room for cowardice._

 _Choose your battle cries as judiciously you would a steed._

 _No sword will shine brighter than the new—the unused—never taken up against waves of passion or ignorance. But even the brightest blade in unpracticed hands will be as useless as a dry stalk of wheat against the formidable enemy of your tribulations._

Squinting to concentrate and keep the words from bleeding together, his head pounded.

"Good morning, milord Consort," came a terse voice from the doorway.

Steve found his feet so fast he nearly upended his chair. He did, however, succeed in bumping the desk and sloshing wax out of the dish. He turned a sheepish smile at Marina and fetched a handkerchief to try and blot up the mess. Quicker than a sparkplug, she snatched the cloth away and gave his hand a smack for good measure. The lines of her eyes pinched with irritation.

"Wait for it to cool. Then a butter knife's edge will suffice. And you won't soil a perfectly good cloth," she snapped.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, now painted as especially inadequate. "Right. Yeah. I knew that."

"I trust you slept well," she snipped, casting a pointed glance to the clearly untouched coverlet.

"Always a bit off kilter when Thor's away," he explained quickly. And she seemed crustier than usual. "But things are looking up, yeah. Yourself? And please. Again, plain old Steve suits me just fine."

"No, _plain old Steve_ is **not** _just fine_. Stephen. As future husband to the Crowned Prince of Asgard, you're expected to maintain and command respect. Always."

The royal wedding, which had been postponed twice now, was three months away.

Thor had been called offworld two weeks ago by escalating unrest throughout the Nine Realms, instigated primarily by Thanos' tyrannical agenda. Due to complicating factors, Steve had been told to stay on Asgard until the newest blaze of battle abated. It wouldn't be safe to use the Bifrost for casual trips to and from Midgard. Still a fledgling in interstellar politics and warfare, Steve knew he wouldn't be much help anyway. Worry coupled by the lack of Thor's now familiar warmth kept Steve restless.

He spent some of his days tutoring himself in the ins and outs of horsemanship, the rest with fishermen and trade ships unloading wares on the docks. That had been the only job familiar to him, and the only one he wouldn't need copious amounts of training to do efficiently. Bothering anyone to help him compensate for his profound lack of usefulness was the last thing on his agenda. He had no clue where to fit in, what to do, or who to ask.

Lady Marina, one of the palace attendants, had been the only constant in Steve's new life. And he was starting to get the feeling that she wasn't too keen on that.

"I'm having trouble following you," he admitted. "I've always been just Steve, plain as vanilla."

She guffawed. "Hopeless. I don't think I'll ever grow accustomed to that peculiar way of speaking of yours. Spice it up. Your colloquialisms are so very… simple."

The bite in her voice stung. "Lady Marina, if there is something I've done to offend you—"

"It is your entire manner, your whole definition that offends, Stephen."

"Pardon me?"

"You heard."

"Care to spell it out simpler?"

"You're infuriatingly humble, unbelievably clumsy, in no way qualified to be Thor's anything, and it's very easy to dislike you."

"Way to throw open the Chicago overcoat. How long have you been stewing on this?"

She scoffed. "Frankly, you're one of the most unstimulating people I've met in my lengthy three thousand years. You couldn't understand, nay fathom, how you undermine everything we stand for."

No point beating around the bush now. _Out with it._ "Is this about me being a man?"

"Ha! Oh, don't make me laugh. You're mistaking my ire with you for medieval prejudices? Is that why you shut yourself away? Out of indoctrinated shame? Spineless. You think I didn't see that way Thor looked at other men from boyhood? I nannied him for thirteen years, and tutored him for the seven come after."

Surprised, Steve tried to blink sense into his expression. "Then what's eating you?"

"What's _eating me_ is that you are not a native born to Asgard. Regardless of your special circumstances, you have no right to stand beside Thor on a common street let alone a royal dais. You are a Consort, a king's conjugal companion only." She gestured toward the desk and the stacks of reading material pilled at the corners. "These books are for seasoned scholars and our warriors. You are neither, and have thus far taken no initiative to better your chances."

"I should like to think that a Consort's duties extend beyond the obvious."

"Think whatever you'd like. I'm sure His Majesty has filled your head with all sorts of sweet things about your marriage that amount to little more than empty wind. Thor never lies. But he does have a way of polishing the truth."

"I only want to support him."

"Then start acting like it. You being here, abiding silently in the castle, a resident from another, lesser world without an ounce of title in your blood disgraces the Allfather's lineage since time immemorial. The gossip hounds have all but devoured you."

Steve fought to keep from withering. "That was never my intention, Marina."

"I wish I could say that was a relief. Moreover, I guess we won't have to worry about a lineage from now on. That is, unless your special circumstances endowed you with more than we've been privileged to know." She gave him a surly, sharp once-over.

Steve felt his face heat up like a boiler room. "I was trained in—I guess I just thought I should stay out of the way."

"There's your simplicity talking. Keep acting like a pet and that's what you'll be treated like."

"Then why can't I be a warrior?"

"You are a soldier of Earth: of gun powder, trenches, and espionage. Not swordsmanship, archery, formal combat, or any honorable form of warfare for that matter."

"I think the boys down at the VA might have a thing or two to say about that."

"Simple, simple, simple minded man. A month's wages say you can't even ride properly."

"I'd ask what I could do to cool you off, but that's starting to seem a little above my pay grade."

She marched over to the book that lay open on his desk and shut it with such force that the gust extinguished what little remained of the candle flame. "Your sole duty here is to keep His Highness happy, healthy, and satisfied. Do not go poking your nose into sacred history and looking for ways to insert yourself or your blasphemous traditions into our military."

"Army life is all I'm good at. It's what I was made for."

"And here I thought your only talents fell under nocturnal entertainment."

For the first time, Steve visibly bristled, his voice bordering on the next notch up. "Maybe if you'd help me cook with gas instead of hanging me out to dry for things I can't change—"

He saw raw anger pour into her face and ignite her eyes a livid green. "You are an alien with unclean, unholy power, granted to you not by gods but by meager men, pulsing through your veins! The only way you are akin to us is that you cannot die anytime soon. I owe you nothing, least of all my help." With that, she abruptly turned from him, seized a riding cloak in need of laundering, and made a beeline for the door.

"I don't have anyone else," Steve whispered tightly, a ragged, dusty confession that he never wanted to acknowledge. Everything he knew, everything that had shaped him into the man he was, had died.

She stopped in her tracks, the fabric of her dress whispering around her ankles as it settled back into place.

"Not even back on Earth. Everyone I knew is dead and gone. I'm pathetic. Thor, bless his big heart, has tried to shelter me from the true breadth of the galaxy since the moment he brought me here because even he knows I can't stomach it. That it's too big for me. That the existence of this place throws into question the religious foundation on which I built my life. I'm tired of not knowing. I want to be what he needs. I want to be a help to Asgard. So help me."

In a huff, she crossed her arms and began to tap her foot.

"You think I don't see how people look at me? You think I don't feel like a codfish in a shark tank? Like a pigeon trying to be a peacock? I'm not asking you to get chummy with me. But, please. I love him, Marina."

She cast a scalding, suspicious glare over her shoulder. "No one is debating that. In this room, at least."

He crossed the floor and moved to stand toe to toe with her. "For the sake of his honor and respect for the throne, teach me how to talk. Act. Think. Interact. I'll never have the pedigree I should. But the least I can give him is a spine thick enough to give sound counsel and comfort when I can. Please."

Her eyes finally lit on his face, their frustration lessened and her voice almost pleasant when she replied. "That speech was… not a completely disappointing start."

His heart jumped. "Then you'll help me?"

She sighed through her nose, her lips pursed into a grim line. "Firstly, put that rubbish away." She fluttered her hand dismissively at the pile of books. "You're trying to eat the boar by the hooves. You already know how to be a solider. What you don't know is how to play the game that is Court. And that, you'll not learn in a book."

"And you're going to teach me how to play?"

Her eyes slit to daggers as she turned a smirk that smacked of wit. "Heavens no, milord Consort. I'm going to teach you how to win.~"


	4. What Might Have Been

Brooklyn, New York

[One year earlier...]

Thor's hand connected with Steve's curvaceous backside as he swaggered through their kitchen. With both of their bulk combined, they easily dwarfed the apartment.

Steve's cheeks blazed, nearly dropping his handful of blueberries anywhere but in the bowl where they belonged.

"Your blush is one of my favorite things about you."

"It's a medical condition," Steve mumbled, attacking the bowl of pancake batter with his wooden spoon and renewed fervor. If there was one thing Steve had learned about being married to an Asgardian, it was that when Thor needed sex, Steve needed to forget all about his modesty. But his Irish complexion betrayed him more often than not. Especially at the dinner when Thor's hand stole its way under the table. And in the back room of the movie theater. And the bathroom of that snazzy five star joint at the top of the Space Needle.

Overcoming his intimate anxiety was one thing. Not letting the idea of sex override all other matters was another. Thor did not make that easy. He had successfully turned Steve from a prude virgin into a veritable cum slut.

The effect Thor had on Steve went unnoticed by none. (It probably had something to do with the whole God of Fertility thing.) Natasha often caught Steve staring, his blues shrinking as lust dilated his pupils. Stark and Banner walked in on them, too. After a mission in Thebes. In one of those glorious temples Thor insisted on consummating their relationship in.

Oh, and let's not forget the wholly mortifying time Steve opened his phone in front of Fury to a secret picture Thor had snapped of Steve giving Thor oral.

Let's never forget that.

And Steve let it all happen, as though he had lost the ability to abstain.

Thor seized Steve's wrist and spun him around, leaving no room to do anything but share breath as Thor pushed Steve against the rim of the stove.

"Last night was magnificent. You are impressively flexible."

Steve stuck a spoonful of blueberry batter into Thor's mouth. And Thor licked it in a way that liquefied Steve's insides. Steve gulped. Thor swallowed.

"The timber company called. They asked if we could go down to the yard and help with the load. The shipment."

Steve knew his phrasing was a mistake before he finished the sentence.

"How serendipitous. I too have a load that needs to be taken care of."

"Thor, this is serious."

"Sundays are days of rest."

"Funny. You sure don't let me sleep much."

Thor smiled. Steve could have swooned. "I have a proposal."

"Oh no."

Thor leaned in, his robust voice husky and his presence like a space heater, and spoke against Steve's ear.

"I'll lend my strength to the lumber company. I know how much you love volunteering."

Steve could feel Thor's thick interest straining through his sweats and begging for attention, his own arousal stirring. He struggled not to pant. Batter bowl at his side, Steve waited for the other shoe to drop.

"If?" Steve asked.

"If we park on the way home."

And by 'park', Steve knew what he meant.

"The back seat is kind of tight, don't you think?"

"Who said anything about the back seat?"

Steve's knees trembled, picturing the scene in graphic detail.

Thor pulled back. "You're truly beautiful, especially when you allow yourself the freedom of thought."

Steve tried not to shrink away. Tried to hold his chin high and own the lewd wish.

"Steven." Thor touched Steve's chin and then the tip of his nose the affectionate way he did when the guilt got bad. "We are wed, you and I. It is my wish that you fantasize. And often. I certainly do."

Steve met his eyes. "Will you set the table?" he whispered.

"Yes. And more carefully than last time," Thor joked.

They met for a chaste kiss. Thor reached over Steve's shoulder to fetch mugs and plates from the cabinet.

Steve knew what this was—all of this. Thor was postponing their trip to Asgard to give Steve time to adjust to their partnership. Earth had become Steve's training ground for marriage to an alien king. Thor's tender efforts and passionate being were coaxing Steve from his shell. And Steve thought him valiant and gracious for treating him like he mattered.

Like he was cherished as a man, not a ninety five year old relic of the Greatest Generation.

 _"So, let me get this straight. If I can lift this, I then rule Asgard?"_

 _"Half of it, yes."_

 _"Well then. I will be reinstituting Prima Nocta."_

 _"Go, Tony!"_

 _"You got this, Stark."_

 _"… I'll be right back."_

 _"Are you even pulling?"_

 _"Just represent, fool!"_

 _They all took turns and failed. Steve, expecting no different, went last. And when the hammer came off the coffee table, singing in the metallic tone it always used, no one spoke. Steve, frozen, stared at his hands around the hilt—the hands that had done an impossible deed. Fear surged to life and crawled into his every limb._

 _Steve looked up to find Thor staring somewhere else: at Steve. Not as a teammate. Not as a captain. Steve still couldn't justly describe Thor's gaze, but he could name what waited within. Love. Loyalty. Undiluted pride and awe and promise. Not surprise or disappointment or horror the likes of which painted the faces of the other team members._

 _No one had ever regarded Steve that way. Folks looked at Captain America like that, sure._

 _But out of uniform, in his blue collar and best jeans? Steve was still invisible. Until Thor saw him._

 _Steve's fear blew apart. And it never came back._

Thor fixed the coffee as Steve worked with the frying pan. And for a short while, the world was right and things were good.


End file.
